I Was a Junior High Wiccan

Lots of girls are prone to the phase, when you think about it.

My mother thinks it's hilarious at family holidays to remind me about "that witch stuff" — a collection of Wicca-lite paraphernalia I kept in a tattered suitcase under my bed when I was 13. She has no shortage of things to pick from, since my middle school years were quite literally an embarrassment of riches: KoRn posters, half-completed cosplay costumes, oversized Hot Topic T-shirts that said things like "I'm Only Wearing Black Because There's Nothing Darker."

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I dabbled in Wicca with Sarah* and Jillian*, my two best friends in middle school whose other interests were similar: reading, writing, drawing, Buffy, anime, RPGs (role playing games, for those not familiar)—escapism in any alternative form, really. It goes without saying that Wicca is a religion, not a band or a show or a fashion statement, but it's somehow just as common, intense, and passing as any other phase some girls may go through as they enter adolescence.

I got in touch with Jillian, now 28 and an elementary school counselor, to see what she remembered. Having grown up on Tolkien and Harry Potter, she said the idea of casting spells was obviously appealing to her. But now, as an adult working with children, she has additional insight on why she might have been drawn to it: "Middle school years are terrible times of transition. I bet the idea that I could have control over some things in my life through rituals and honoring elements was very appealing to middle school me."

Jillian added that the woman-centric nature of Wicca would be appealing to any offbeat girl in search of positive affirmation. She adds dryly, "Considering what middle school can do to young women, [Wicca] was definitely a safe choice."

"Considering what middle school can do to young women, [Wicca] was definitely a safe choice."

This turned out to be a common theme among women who had a passing interest in Wicca during puberty. "There really aren't any major religions that place women, their bodily functions, or their sexuality (and sexual power) so firmly in the middle, and for young girls to see that presents a kind of exciting, very life-affirming dynamic," says Catherine, a journalist in her late thirties who took an interest in Wicca at 14. "As a teenage girl, it also helped me deal with my own body issues, seeing things like menstruation and sexuality as essentially positive and life-affirming."

"I loved the whole female power aspect. I loved feeling like I had this powerful, mystical energy within me," says Kayla, 24, who dabbled in Wicca for most of 6th grade. Looking back, her only regret is the disrespectful way she took only the "cool" aspects of Wicca. "It's like claiming to be Buddhist so I could decorate my house in an Asian style. It's really offensive to use an actual religion as a discovery tool. I want to slap little me and be like, 'You look super ignorant and annoying, so stop.'"

Tumblr undoubtedly keeps the phase going strong, but in the late '90s the teen Wicca trend kicked off with The Craft (which time has been cruel to, as I recently discovered via Netflix Instant) an occult prequel to Mean Girls that made magic seem as appealing as it was dangerous. If you were ride-or-die, you demanded a ride to Barnes & Noble so you could spend a few weeks' allowance on Teen Witch by Silver Ravenwolf as your mom waited for you near the cash register, nervously eating a scone.

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The cover of Teen Witch sold itself. It was the centerpiece of my altar/suitcase, with a step-by-step guide on how to call the corners, create sacred space—all designed to work around a typical teenager's life. For example, here is how to build an altar to Spirit if your divorced parents hate each other:

Matt's mom doesn't mind his interest in the Craft, but Matt knows that his father would use Matt's newfound interest to get back at Matt's mother, so Matt keeps a low profile. If anyone walks into Matt's room, they think his altar represents nothing more than a collection of his artistic talents.

I am guessing that Matt will be skipping right to "Posies and Honey Parent Love Spell." In fact, almost every woman I spoke to who had this phase says they tried to cast some kind of love spell. Kayla tells me: "I remember doing a cleansing ritual involving a boy. Like, 'Trying to rid him from my life' and 'Remove his spirit from mine' sort of thing. All very dramatic." And at that moment, it helped, she said—magic or not.

Teen Witch and other Silver Ravenwolf books are clever because wrapped inside the Wiccan terminology and rituals, in many ways they're typical teen self-help books. Many of the spells are just exercises in positive energy and mindfulness, with some chanting thrown in, and having that secret life, that control over your feelings as the chaos of adolescence swirls outside, would make any girl feel powerful. Middle school is when appearance really starts to matter, so it makes sense that the girls who aren't 110 pounds with perfectly flat-ironed hair and McMansion homes would be in desperate search of empowerment. Jillian, Sarah, and I all fit that profile.

"Girls who were popular and social typically didn't have the need to seek out spirituality for empowerment because most of them had found it in their social spheres," says Kayla. "For the rest of us, it's easy to find a fad or a movement and attach themselves to it in order to define or find themselves."

Kendra, 25, who identified as Wiccan between the ages of 12 and 15, confirms this in so many words: "I already felt depressed, like an outcast, and this made me feel more comfortable with being a loner. I would venture to guess that girls who don't try it never felt the need for that kind of separation from the rest of the world."

"I was trying to convince all of us that magic exists while there was still a small window of time."

In my case, the three of us were creative girls, in a school where creativity wasn't particularly valued. Jillian and Sarah got good grades and made the best of it, but I was never a good student, and my imagination leaked out of me in weird ways: I was always the one who moved the Ouija planchette at slumber parties, the one who insisted I could see their auras and went into detail about what color theirs was. It wasn't out of malice; I wasn't trying to bullshit anybody. I think I was trying to convince all of us that magic exists while there was still a small window of time.

Kayla echoes: "We're desperate to believe it because we're still in that grey area between preadolescence and adolescence where reality is creeping in but there's still this speck of fantasy in the back of our minds. It's almost that last strand of make-believe we have."

The pre-teen Wicca phase ended for these women for a variety of reasons: "I got boobs." "I switched schools." "I joined Drama Club." "My friends and I had other stuff to talk about." "Boys don't want to make out with a witch." Most pertained to finding a new identity, or a new group of friends.

For the most part, aside from some shame they feel about being posers, women who went through this emerged with a stronger sense of their own feminine selves as well as immense respect for practicing Wiccans. "I'm so glad I know about it. I'm in awe of those who've committed, really," says Catherine. "They remind me of the wonder of the world."

The last time I performed a Wiccan ritual was the beginning of my freshman year of high school. Jillian, Sarah and I walked through the woods along the highway, trying to ignore the swooshing noises of cars doing 70—in our town you never got far from a highway. If memory serves, we were wearing white sheets over our clothes. It was some kind of an indoctrination ritual, officially devoting ourselves to the Wiccan practice.

We picked a spot, created sacred space, called the corners, and then fell silent as the ritual ordered. We darted quick excited glances at each other, feeling simultaneously silly and empowered. The highway was loud but we hoped we were just being cynical, hoped that anything could happen.